


I try to picture me without you but I can't

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, M/M, Mates, Time Travel, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Peter sends Stiles back in time to get something he needs. It's not what Stiles thinks.





	I try to picture me without you but I can't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HDHale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDHale/gifts).



> Okay, so I saw [this art by Harry](http://yogi-bogey-box.tumblr.com/post/176974545074/hd-hale-you-cant-be-very-clever-if-youre) for this year's Steter Week and HAD to write something for it. (I also snatched some of Harry's dialogue.)
> 
> Unbeta'd because I have no patience. It's a little bit sloppy.

"Let me help you," Stiles says, and Peter can't help but smile. His world is going to complete shit but Stiles manages to make him feel like that isn't the case. Still, there's not much the boy can do.

Stiles sits in front of him, looking worried, hands twitching like he wants to reach for him. Peter's not sure if that would help or if it would make him lash out. He hopes Stiles doesn't put it to the test.

"My anchor isn't holding." Finally, Peter tells the truth he's been dancing around for weeks.

"I figured that's what it was," Stiles says. It shouldn't surprise Peter. Stiles is the one person Peter can always count on to keep up with him. His mind works fast, calculating odds and answers at light speed. If he knows this, he already understands what's at stake. Still, he has to be curious.

"Go ahead and ask your questions," Peter says with a sigh. He leans back against the sofa, forcing himself to stay calm.

"Why is it happening now?" Stiles asks. 

Peter shrugs. "Why does anything happen at any given time? Fate, the universe, karma catching up with me?" He sighs. "It doesn't matter why _now_. It's too late to worry about those things." He has an idea, of course. But he doesn't think Stiles will believe him.

"Okayyy," Stiles says with a dubious drawl. "Forget the why. What's your anchor? Can you find another one?"

Peter's vision goes red and he knows his eyes are glowing bright blue. He closes them and takes a deep breath. Ignores the itch in his gums, the anger burning in his belly. "Talia made a mess of my mind when she extracted my memories." He doesn't have to look to know Stiles is frowning. He clenches his fists on his lap and explains as best he can. "I don't even know what my anchor is, to be honest. Ever since I found it, I only had to concentrate on the feeling of it and it would work to keep me in control."

Stiles sounds deeply disturbed when he asks, "Your sister took your memories of your _anchor_?"

Peter growls. His claws grow into his palms. He feels the blood seeping into his jeans before he even smells it. He looks at Stiles and opens his mouth to tell him to get away before he gets hurt, but Stiles is already moving. 

But forward, not away. His fingertips gently touch the backs of Peter's hands. The feeling startles Peter out of his shift and his claws retract back to his blunt, human nails. Stiles turns Peter's hands over and watches as his palms heal.

"Tell me what I can do," Stiles demands, though his words are so soft Peter doesn't know how to react.

He needs to learn control from scratch, and that means either taking up Buddhism — which would clash horribly with his personality and never actually work — or finding the Hale medallion, which went missing years before.

"Why do you even care, Stiles?" He thinks it's a fair enough question. He hasn't done anything to warrant this much consideration.

"Friends don't let friends go feral," Stiles says, almost flippant, but a shade of serious that lets Peter know Stiles isn't just joking. He considers them friends, now.

A warmth grows inside Peter's chest. It almost feels like his anchor. "I can't ask you to put yourself in danger."

Stiles can't hide his surprise, at least not for the second it flits across his face before it's hidden with a frown. "What kind of danger are we talking about?" He gestures between them. "Besides the danger I'm already in just being here."

"Time travel," Peter says bluntly.

Stiles laughs. "C'mon, be serious."

Peter sighs. "I'm not having you on. Time travel is real. It's just not what you see on TV."

"So I can't go back and prevent the fire?" Stiles asks, and the fact that this is the first thing he thinks of is touching.

"No, of course not. If it was, don't you think I would have done it already?" He pulls his hands away from Stiles, not wanting to scratch him if his anger brings the wolf back to the fore.

Stiles nods. "Okay, so I can't do that. Can I prevent your sister from taking your memories, then?"

Again, Peter has to admit that he can't. He shakes his head. "Time travel is like a bubble. You can't really affect anything that's already happened. Not… not really."

Stiles looks intrigued, and then like he has more questions but is holding himself back.

"I just need you to take something from the Hale vault and bring it back to me." If he times Stiles's trip correctly…

"You're leaving something out," Stiles says. Just like that. He knows Peter's hiding something from him. He knows him too well. It just adds evidence for Peter's hypothesis. Stiles looks at him, searches his face, but then he nods. "Okay, don't tell me."

"Don't just trust me," Peter hisses, rearing back away from him.

Stiles just rolls his eyes. "You're so pissy like this. I can't wait to get you back to normal."

Peter narrows his eyes but Stiles only laughs. He has no sense of self-preservation. It's worrying.

"But this thing you need… it'll work? You'll be better?"

What Peter needs is his memory back and his anchor firm in his mind again, but he nods. "The triskele medallion. Hales have taught control to generation after generation with it. It's what I need."

Stiles is silent and time stretches out between them. Stiles obviously knows Peter's still keeping secrets, and he's making some kind of decision. To trust him anyway? Can Peter rely on that?

"Okay," Stiles finally says.

Peter leans forward, meeting Stiles's eyes. The boy looks determined and stubborn. "Just like that?" Peter asks, needing to give Stiles another chance.

But Stiles just shrugs. "Well, I'll need specifics on all the time travel stuff, but yeah. Just like that."

And suddenly, for the first time in weeks, Peter has hope.

* * *

**2004**

Something tells Peter to go back to the vault to check on its security. Instinct maybe, and he always trusts his instincts. He'd just been there hours before, dropping the medallion back into its place — now that Derek's control is back, there's no use for it. It can stay in the vault until the next generation of Hales has need of it.

It's chilly. He grabs his jacket from the backseat of his car and throws it over his shoulders before he walks across the parking lot to the entrance.

He's not expecting to find the vault open, or to catch the thief red handed. Though why he's stealing the medallion and not one of the other treasures makes him even curious.

"Turn around," Peter says, and the boy startles so hard he falls back, landing on his ass. It would be comical if it wasn't so serious. "You can't be very clever if you're trying to steal from the Hale vault." Though that's actually a lie — the boy somehow got into the vault, found what he was after, he assumes, and was on his way out when he was caught.

The boy's eyes widen. "Peter?"

Peter takes a step forward. He puts his hand into his pocket, just to show how nonchalant he is. However, he's anything but. He's… intrigued. Attracted. He inhales and catches the boy's scent and then he's even more so. "I don't think we've met before. I'm sure I'd remember a pretty face like yours."

Is it possible this boy, this _thief_ , is his mate? Peter's wolf stirs inside him and perks up.

The boy snorts. "Ugh, it had to be you."

"Of course it's me," Peter says, and smiles meanly. Now would be a good time to catch him out. Accuse him of one thing so he admits to another. "Isn't that why some hunter gave you my scent to mask yourself with?"

Instead of putting the boy on the wrong foot, it just serves to amuse him. The boy rolls his eyes. He even smiles a little, which makes Peter's wolf happy. It wants to see more smiles. Ugh. 

"You're just as insufferable," the boy mutters under his breath.

Peter's human side is in control, though. He's not going to bow to the whims of his wolf, at least not until he's sure the boy isn't a threat. "Hand over the triskele and maybe I’ll think up a way for you to… _apologize_ for inconveniencing me, instead of ripping your lovely throat out. My scent does suit you so well after all."

The boy narrows his eyes even as his cheeks turn an alluring shade of pink. "No."

"No, you won't hand it over or no, you have no interest?" Peter asks. It's not what he meant to say at all, but the boy still doesn't smell afraid. There's curiosity there in his eyes and a tinge of desire in his scent. How can Peter resist?

"I need it," the boy says. He opens his mouth, then seems to realize what he said. Peter smirks and the boy flushes even redder. "I mean the medallion. I need it."

Peter scoffs. "I doubt it." He moves forward, ever closer, and then with a sudden movement yanks the boy to his feet. 

He's not expecting the shock, the tingle of awareness at the very first touch. He's heard enough about the experience all his life to recognize it for what it is. He's found his mate. 

"Whoa, watch the merchandise," the boy says. "No manhandling the fragile human!" It comes out of his mouth so easily that Peter's sure he's said it before. Used to werewolves, then. He doesn't smell like strange wolves, though, only himself and Peter. Maybe if Peter got closer he'd smell more. It's tempting, especially when the boy stretches his neck from side to side.

"What's your name?" Peter asks.

The boy — Peter's mate — blinks. "Stiles," he says, quiet like he's perturbed that Peter doesn't already know.

"Stiles," Peter says, also quiet, rolling the word on his tongue, tasting it the way he wants to taste the boy in front of him. "Tell me why you want the medallion."

Stiles licks his plush lips, distracting Peter for a moment. "It's complicated?"

Peter meets his eyes and smirks. "Is that a question?"

"No. No, I mean it really is complicated and you won't believe me if I tell you, so…" He trails off and stares at Peter. "How old are you?"

"Old enough," Peter says. "Now, why don't you tell me the truth and let me decide if I believe you or not."

Stiles grips the triskele in one hand and sighs. "What do you know about time travel?"

Peter watches him for a long moment as his mind turns over everything he's gleaned from his family's library on the subject. He notices there's nothing but honest exasperation on Stiles's face. "Are you from the past or the future?"

"You believe me?" Stiles asks.

Peter shrugs. "I don't disbelieve you."

A short, sharp bark of laughter escapes Stiles's mouth and he looks at Peter with a fondness that warms him to his toes. "You're just so… you."

"The future, then?" Peter asks. "Because I'm sure I'd remember you if you came from my past." He'd certainly know if he'd already met his mate.

Stiles nods. "You're the one who needs the medallion."

Peter arches a brow. "I find that highly unlikely."

"You sent me here. I need to get it back to… you." 

Peter can tell that Stiles is having trouble speaking of him in two timelines. He also knows himself, and if he sent his mate back in time, it was for some reason other than a medallion that is little more than the placebo effect in object form.

Stiles is watching him, worry and anxiety in his scent, and Peter realizes his future self is giving him something wonderful. A chance to be with his mate before he's supposed to. 

"How much older than you am I in your time?" Peter asks.

"Um, fifteen years, maybe more?" Stiles says. "Why?"

Peter has his mate now, ahead of time. Stiles is a gift. A firm anchor, too. And while Peter knows his mate has to go back to his own time, that doesn't have to happen immediately, does it?

"I'll let you borrow the medallion," Peter says. Stiles starts to smile, and opens his mouth to say something, but Peter cuts him off. "But. But you have to stay here for a week."

"I can't. That's too long, the spell…"

"The weekend, then," Peter blurts, trying not to sound too desperate. "It's Friday night, just stay until Monday morning."

"Midnight, Sunday night," Stiles says quietly. "That's the longest I can stay. And then I can have the medallion?"

Peter nods.

"Okay. It's a deal," Stiles says, and holds out his hand.

Peter takes it in his but instead of a handshake, Stiles gets a kiss to the back of his hand. He colors again and Peter smiles, not even caring how smug he looks.

* * *

Stiles isn't sure what he was expecting but this is _not it_.

Peter had been hiding something, yes, but this? This is something else. And now Stiles wonders if Peter remembered Stiles's trip. Surely not, right? There's something he's still not getting.

He's led to a car, a new BMW M3 that Stiles prefers to the thing Peter's got in the future. They drive past streets that are familiar, yet not. Some of the shop fronts are different, for sure. And then…

"Can you stop here?" Stiles asks, heart in his throat, as they pass the hospital. He knows it's about March 2004. He knows his mom is in there. How can he pass up the opportunity to see her one more time?

"Want me to stay in the car?" Peter asks, when he parks in the garage.

Stiles shakes his head. He doesn't know this Peter, but he doesn't want to do this alone.

His feet still know the way and he leads Peter right to his mom's room. It's past visiting hours but he knows that doesn't mean much for his dad. Fortunately, he's not there. He could be working, or maybe he's at home with his kid. 

He's probably working.

Claudia is asleep. Stiles stands in her door for a long moment, just watching her. He doesn't want to disturb her. Doesn't want a scene if she wakes, either.

He doesn't know what he's doing here, just knows it hurts. Why did he decide to do this?

Then he feels a hand rest on his back. He turns his head to look at Peter. He's so young like this. But not far from the Peter he knows, not really. 

Stiles swallows. He figures he owes Peter some kind of explanation. "It's my mom. She… she's gonna die soon."

The look Peter gives him isn't pity, but Stiles still has to turn away from it. The hand on his back rubs gently.

Stiles can't bring himself to walk farther into the room. He watches his mother sleep for another minute, then turns around to leave.

"That's it?" Peter asks.

"I can't change anything. I can't do… there's nothing. She's already dead, for me." Stiles's voice breaks on the last words.

He knows not even the Bite could cure her. He's talked to Peter about it before, just asking hypothetically. The Bite might have even sped her decline.

He looks at Peter, begging with his eyes that he not ask more questions. Peter nods and leads him back to the car. On the way there, Stiles shivers, but before he can even complain about the chill, a warm weight settles over his shoulders. Peter has draped his own coat over Stiles, and it's so unexpected that Stiles just accepts it.

And then they're driving again, though this time the silence is thoughtful and probably smells like Stiles's tears.

He doesn't even know where Peter is taking him, but he soon finds out. Peter has a nice apartment in town, though it's not as nice as future Peter's.

Stiles is reminded that this Peter is only in his twenties still. 

"You don't live with your sister?" Stiles asks, breaking the quiet.

Peter gives him an incredulous look. "God, no."

Stiles laughs, though it comes out roughly.

"You hungry?" Peter asks as he lets Stiles into his apartment.

"I could eat, yeah," Stiles answers.

Instead of ordering takeout, Peter cooks. Stiles doesn't dwell on how attractive Peter looks standing at the stove with a dishtowel casually draped over his shoulder. There's steam hitting him from a boiling pot and it curls a bit of hair on his forehead. Stiles wants to touch it. 

"What are you making?" Stiles asks.

"Spaghetti," Peter says with a shrug. "I've got my own sauce, so it's not as plebeian as it sounds, I promise."

Stiles laughs at that. He keeps watching, cataloging all the differences between his Peter and this one.

There aren't a lot, just some features seem amplified in either this Peter or the one Stiles knows.

"Why do I get this treatment, by the way?" Stiles asks. "You caught me stealing from you, after all."

Peter grins at him from over his shoulder. "There just must be something about you, Stiles."

The way Peter says his name, like a caress, is definitely not new. Neither is Stiles's reaction to it. But while the Peter in Stiles's time never did more than tease and flirt, Stiles gets the impression that this one would press him beyond that line if he showed some interest.

And Stiles is definitely interested. He's grateful he's sitting at the bar and not out in the open, where his erection might be spotted.

But when Peter turns and smirks at him, he remembers werewolves can smell arousal. Peter doesn't mention it, though, just asks if he likes wine.

"If you have a good red," Stiles says. Sure, he's technically still underage to drink for another two years, but between Lydia and Peter already knows a good bit about how to appreciate wine.

Peter looks affronted. "Of course I do."

Stiles can't help but smile at him.

The spaghetti is good but the sauce is what makes it. It tastes delicious, and Peter preens when Stiles says so. Peter gives Stiles a hefty plate of food, and when it's gone, offers him more. Stiles isn't completely unaware of courting behavior, and it slots into place all at once. The touching has been scent marking. So, too, was the coat. And now Peter is feeding him, providing for him, and Stiles doesn't know what to make of it.

He wracks his brain to think of any similar things future Peter has done. He comes up with a lot of little examples, more than he thought he'd remember. Though this Peter is doing things all at once, as soon as he can, the older version does things like they're just instinct. This Peter is courting. Future Peter treats him like he's already his.

What if… 

Is it possible that Stiles is Peter's anchor? The thing he can't remember in the future?

He lets his breath out all at once. Looks at Peter, who's looking back at him with something more than ego shining in his eyes.

"Are you courting me?" Stiles asks, already knowing the answer. "Why?"

Peter blinks, obviously not expecting these questions. Then he smiles and looks delighted. "You're so fucking clever. I want to take you to bed right now."

Stiles feels himself flush bright red. He's used to a Peter who's subtle and devious. This Peter might be devious too, but he's got all the subtlety of a cartoon anvil.

Which makes Stiles smile as well. 

"I was hesitant to tell you," Peter says. "Because you're human." He looks nervous now.

Stiles licks his lips. Swallows thickly. "Tell me."

Peter takes his hands in his. Holds on a little tighter than he needs to, as if he's afraid he might have to hold on when Stiles makes a break for it. That's it, isn't it? Peter's scared.

"You're my mate."

Stiles jerks in place. Yes, it's what he expected, but to hear it put so plainly is shocking. His breathing comes a little faster, but it's not in panic. It's excitement.

"You're sure?" Stiles asks.

Peter leans forward even closer. "The pull is so strong I'm surprised you can't feel it yourself."

_The pull._ Does Peter mean every moment they've ever been together, the way Stiles has always gravitated toward him, at least since his resurrection. And before that, when Peter was out of his mind and downright dangerous, Stiles still felt _something_. But now, when it's brand new and settling into place for the first time, yes… Yes.

"I do," Stiles tells him. "I've always felt it."

Peter's hands tighten for a moment, then let go. They go to Stiles's cheeks instead, cup his face with gentle reverence. "Stay with me."

Stiles lets out a breath. "You know I can't."

"How am I going to live without you, knowing my mate is so close but so far away?" Peter asks. Stiles can see the worry in his smile.

"Something's going to happen and you won't remember," Stiles tells him honestly.

Peter arches a brow. "There's no way I could ever forget this feeling."

"The feelings will be there," Stiles says. He knows it must be so. If he's Peter's anchor, he'll hold with him for years without even being a memory. "And then, when you need me the most, I'll be there for you again."

And it's only after he's said it that he remembers it's not true. Peter will be burned and traumatized and definitely in need of his mate, but Stiles won't be there. 

"What's wrong?" Peter asks. "You suddenly smell like… like grief. What's the matter?"

"I just wish I could spare you pain," Stiles says. "Your future… my past, but your future, it's not good."

But he can't do anything about it. He can't affect what's to happen. If he told Peter, would Peter even remember? Can he at least try?

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a chance. "I have to tell you something."

"You can't change it," Peter says. "Whatever it is you want to fix… time travel doesn't work that way. I'm sure I've already explained it in the future. Did he… I… say you could change things?"

"No, but he didn't tell me I was his anchor, either," Stiles says dryly. "There might be a chance."

"If it's that important to you, then try," Peter says. 

So Stiles nods and opens his mouth to tell Peter everything. About Kate Argent. About the fire. About Laura, and everything that happened…

But no words come out. He feels like his throat is being squeezed shut, and when he tries to get even one word of the tragedy out of his mouth, he can't breathe. His eyes start to tear up and he clutches at his throat.

Peter's eyes widen. "Stop! Stop trying to say it. Whatever it is, just stop."

"Fuck," Stiles coughs out. 

"Your lips were turning blue," Peter says worriedly. "Don't try that again."

Stiles wonders if he can write it down, but even as the thought crosses his mind, his fingers cramp up and _hurt_.

" _Fuck!_ " Stiles repeats, this time with more feeling.

"Just stop," Peter says. He pulls Stiles into his arms and holds him. "It's okay. Whatever it is, I get through it, don't I? Enough that I send you back in time to myself. It can't be that bad. I'm still alive, right?"

Stiles wants to laugh hysterically. Peter must think the shaking of his shoulders is from him crying, because Peter rubs his back and shushes him. 

"Don't cry, sweetheart," Peter says. "We've found each other. We should be happy."

Stiles sniffles. Thinks. He is happy, actually. And it's not like Stiles has to leave immediately. He has a whole weekend to be with his mate, to solidify their bond, so that when he returns to his own timeline, Peter and he only have to reestablish it, and Peter's anchor problems will be gone.

And then what? Will Stiles and Peter live their lives together, happily ever after? What if the Peter in the future doesn't want him the way this one does?

"You're smelling sad again," Peter whispers.

"Will you still feel the same about me in the future, do you think?" Stiles mumbles against Peter's shoulder.

Peter pulls back to look him in the eye. "Of course I will. Will you want me even when I'm old?"

Stiles smiles and shakes his head. He cups Peter's face and brushes his thumb along that familiar cheekbone. "You aren't old. You're hot as fuck."

"Still?"

It's hard not to laugh at that. "Yes. Still."

"You should at least have us both for comparison," Peter says.

Something bright and hot flares inside Stiles's belly and he feels suddenly breathless. He nods. "Yes. That… that should be a thing that happens."

Peter smirks and then he's pulling Stiles to his feet. He kisses him then, desperately hard but unmistakably sweet. Stiles moans into his mouth and chases Peter's tongue with his own. He tastes like wine. He feels like hunger.

For a moment, Stiles wonders what Peter will kiss like in the future, when they find each other again. Then Peter sweeps him into his arms and Stiles loses that train of thought completely.

* * *

It's not Stiles's first time with another man, but it's his first time with _Peter_ , and that alone is enough to wedge the experience into his heart.

Peter touches him like he's precious, which seems like such a cliché but it's not anything Stiles would have expected from him. Not the cocky, smug little shit Peter is in this time. But that just goes to show Stiles how much Peter cares, how important he sees him as. He's Peter's anchor. His touchstone. Mates are more than just a word, and Peter worships Stiles's body and shows him just what he's feeling.

Even if it wasn't in Peter's touch, it would be there shining in his eyes. Stiles hopes his own expression shows Peter he feels it, too.

The more they touch, the closer Stiles feels to Peter. Something expands in his chest like pure sunshine. He guesses it's the mate bond pulling them together. 

Peter grins at him, looking excited. "I can't believe this is happening. You're real."

Stiles pulls him closer and kisses him. The bond pulses between them. He wonders if it would have come into being again in the future if he and Peter had been together then. Without knowing it was there. He wants to cry at the thought of losing it. He can't imagine what it was like for Peter to feel it but not remember the source.

This Peter will forget. His sister will take his memories of this night, of this weekend, and all he'll be left with is the feeling. 

Stiles decides to cement the bond as thoroughly as he can. Maybe it will somehow make up for losing... him.

He doesn't want Peter to forget him, to forget _this_. Tears spring to his eyes at the thought. He feels overwhelmed with love and sadness at the same time. 

Peter wipes his tears away with his thumbs, gentle touches that make Stiles want to cry more. 

"What is it?" Peter whispers. "Should I stop?"

Stiles shakes his head. Whispers back, "I need you inside me."

Peter searches his face and kisses him gently. Touches him with an intoxicating mix of reverence and hunger. "I'll give you everything you need."

His promises aren't empty. He fumbles a little here and there, enough to make Stiles smile, but he fills up every aching emptiness, satisfies every brazen want. Stiles has never been so thoroughly fucked.

Afterwards, Peter keeps touching him, stroking his skin, like he still can't get enough. Stiles's heart feels like it's grown to accommodate Peter's presence, and he wonders if Peter feels the same.

"I'm going to spoil you rotten," Peter says quietly, and Stiles turns over to face him. 

"Not if I spoil you first," he says, and climbs on top of him for the next round, a grin on his face and love in his heart.

* * *

**2018**

Peter's snarling, barely cognizant of his surroundings, when Stiles returns. He hears worried voices and shakes the chains binding his wrists.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Stiles asks. He starts to move closer but Scott stops him with a hand to his chest.

"You can't," the alpha says. "He's feral; you shouldn't even be here."

Stiles scoffs. "I've got this, bro."

"Stiles!" Scott says, but the boy in question just pushes him away and comes closer to Peter. He's holding something.

"I got your medallion," he says. Peter looks at it, recognizing it vaguely. 

"He stopped talking yesterday," Scott says.

Peter's determined to make him a liar. "Stiles," he says. It's slurred between fangs but it's a word, isn't it?

Stiles comes closer. "I can fix this. I'm your anchor. I know that now. I'm your mate." Peter reaches out for him. Stiles's scent washes over him as he comes closer, and it soothes Peter's wolf. He _smells_ like his mate, like PeterandStiles.

"Stiles," Peter says again, clearer this time. 

His mate puts the medallion down and reaches out. Their hands touch. Peter pulls him closer, though it's difficult with the manacles and chains holding him back.

"Oh god," Scott mutters. "Be careful!"

But Stiles doesn't seem to care what the alpha says. He curls up close to Peter and lets him nose at his neck, breathing him in with great big huffs.

"It's me, big bad. Breathe it in." The smile is clear in his voice.

Peter sighs. "Stiles."

"I see you haven't shaved in awhile," Stiles says quietly. "Tickles."

Peter snorts a laugh. Breathes in his scent some more. "You smell like me. You smell like I've been fucking you."

Scott says something but Peter doesn't care what it is. His control is rapidly coming back.

"We solidified the bond," Stiles says. "A lot."

Peter pulls back to look at him. "How was I?"

Stiles's eyes twinkle. "A little inexperienced, but really good."

Their foreheads rest together. "I'm sure I'm better now."

"You're just as cocky, oh my god," Stiles mutters, but there's fondness — love — in his voice. "Scott, let's get him out of these."

"Are you sure?"

Peter answers for himself. "I'm fine. My anchor is right here with me."

Scott looks flummoxed, but he nods after Stiles gives him a look. "Fine. Okay." He produces a key and soon Peter's shackles are falling to the floor with a loud clatter and he's free to wrap his arms around his mate.

"Take me home," Stiles tells him.

Peter looks at his boy, his mate, and smiles. "I don't remember, but I don't need to. I have you back."

"Always," Stiles says. It's not what Peter's expecting, but it makes him feel soft in a way he rarely has experienced. The bond is pulsing in his chest and all he wants is to take Stiles back to his bed and stay there with him forever.

From the way Stiles is looking at him, the way he's holding on, Peter thinks that might just be possible.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave a comment.


End file.
